The Rebellion of the Ladies of Salinas, CA
by SunshineX
Summary: The ladies that inhabit John Steinbeck's novels revolt against the revolting Steinbeck men, and a boycott of life as a wife ensues


The Rebelion of the Ladies from Salinas, CA

                The second Mrs. Curly Lenard was on her porch, shelling peas, when it began.  Mrs. Curly Lenard would always remember that.  Her daughter Dixie was asleep on the rocker next to her, and as she shelled she hummed a tune.  Mrs. Lenard, the second one, that is, had been thinking about how Curly had forgotten their anniversary again, and a voice inside her head (one that sounded frightfully like her mother's) forgave him, on the basis that she had remained married to Mr. Lenard for fifty-two times the length that the original Mrs. Lenard; a grand total of two years.  And the current Mrs. Curley Lenard would always remember that moment in thought.

                Right then, a loud "How'd yee do, Mrs. Lenard!" rang out.  A woman, more inclined to names related to bean poles than her rightful one, was stomping against the wind.  Her shapeless green dress did nothing but accentuate that fact, and the big brown boots on her feet gave her the effect of having pulled up great clods of earth on her roots.  Overall, her effect was comical and vegetable; a large, abundantly flowered hat on her head, which she had clamped on with one spiny hand.  The second Mrs. Curley Lenard bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and stood, first to pick up Dixie, who had started at the woman's shout, and then to greet her visitor.

                "I apologise for comin' unnanounced, Mrs. Lenard - I assume you are Mrs. Curley Leanard?  Good - but I had to, on account ah you lacking a telephone at all.  Now I'm Kate Ghrillic with the Lady Citizen's Votin' Committee, and I just wanna ask you a few questions...  Are you registered as a Democrat o' a Rebul'can?"

                "Hm... I'm not sure."

                The beanpole woman's jaw dropped.  "You don't know?  How can you vote properly if you don't even know yah own poli'cle party?"

                "Well, I know I registered the way my father did... oh yes, that's it, Republican."

                The stranger shook her head, looked down at the next question on her papers, and asked "How d'ya usually vote?"

                "Same way my husband does."

                Again, a sorrowful shake of the head.  "I _meant_ do you vote Democratic, Republican, or Mixed."

                "I couldn't say.  I just vote the way my husband does."

                She sighed,  "Goodness me, all ah you Salinas women vote like you got no free will!  And I learned aftah' the first few that you only respond to the names of yah husbands.  What this town needs, by God, is a Ladies' Revolution!"

                "Beg pardon?"  Mrs. Curley Lenard, the second one, was beginnning to feel a mite uncomfortable, and not because this stranger was insulting the good ladies of Salinas, bless their hearts, but rather that she was right.

                "A Ladies' Revolution.  You know, you protest against just being wives and mothers and reclaim your identities.  Oh, but I know you Salinas ladies would never go for that.  Oh well..."  Then Miss Ghrillic (she was a definate spinster) straightened her spine and said in her authoritative, poll-taker voice,  "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Lenard, and we hope you vote in the next election."  With that, Kate Ghrillic did an about-face and stomped against the wind, hat clamped to her head and clipboard to her side, and she stomped straight out of Salinas, CA, and never came back.

                Behind her, the second Mrs. Curley Lenard stood, with a bowl of peas in one arm and a sleeping Dixie in the other, savoring the words and their meanings.  _A Ladies' Revolution..._

                The next meeting of the Salinas Ladies' Quilting Society was when things really began barrelling their way through life in Salinas.  It all began when Jenkins Parker's wife, who was really a mail-order bride, just delivered and married a few weeks before, decided to join.  Since she was new, there were introductions all around.

                "Mrs. Hank Larkins,"

                "Mrs. Job O'Malley"

                "Mrs. A.J. Greene"

                "Mrs. Gregory Roth"

                "Mrs. Robert Summer"

                "Mrs. Curley Lenard."

                Mrs. Jenkins Parker smiled broadly "Wonderful, I will remember you all.  Now what do I call you, each?"

                "Mrs. Larkins"

                "Mrs. O'Malley"

                "Mrs. Greene"

                "Mrs. Roth"

                "Mrs. Summer"

                "Mrs. Lenard."

                Mrs. Jenkins Parker looked confused.  Then, a bit more slowly than before, as though maybe they hadn't understood her East Coast accent, said "No, I mean, as friends.  Like I want you all to call me Effie; that's my first name.  So what may I call you?"

                Mrs. Roth, the oldest lady in the club, looked at her kindly.  "Mrs. Parker, we no longer go by our first names."

                "Well why ever not?"  Effie Parker was not happy about this.  The ladies in the quilting circle began looking uncomfortable.  Mrs. O'Malley was the next to speak.

                "Because," she began angrily, "Nobody in Salinas acts like you're even a person once you marry.  By God, I swear half these women have forgotten their own first names.  I have!  Life in Salinas just does that to you, and it is the worst possible thing life could ever do."

                Mrs. Lenard had been looking thoughtfully at the log cabin quilt square on her lap.  "I think… I think… my name… was… Clara.  Yes, that's it.  Effie, you may call me Clara."  Mrs. Lenard beamed angelically, and indeed, this small feat was truly a miracle.  The older ladies looked horrified that a woman was using any shred of her maiden name, but slowly the truth came back to them all.  The way their husbands controlled or tried to control everything, the happiness they had felt in their youth, the way marriage had stolen simple joys from them and replaced them with imagined contentment.  And it came back as they remembered.  Mrs. O'Malley was the first.

                "K…k…k…Katherine.  My name was Katherine and everyone called me Crazy Kate because I just would never settle down.  My name is Kate.  Kate.  Kate."

                Mrs. Larkin came next.  "Hannah!  My name is Hannah!"

                And then Mrs. Summers:  "Eliza!  That's it!"

                Mrs. Greene:  "I know, I know!  My name is Perdita!  I remember!"

                Everybody looked at Mrs. Roth, waiting for her to remember.  "Mrs. Roth…" began Clara.  Suddenly, the old widow's face was streaked with tears. 

                "I've forgotten.  I've forgotten entirely.  I can see my whole life, and they called me Mrs. Roth for so much of it…I can't remember!"  Her voice choked with sobs for a moment, and then she looked up, with fire in her eyes.  "I can't stay on like this!  None of us can!"  but then her face clouded over again.  "Oh, but what can we do?  We're just women!"  This sad realization crept in a slow, horrific way over every woman there.  Every woman except for Clara Lenard.

                "We can have a Ladies' Revolution."

                For weeks after, the Salinas Ladies' Quilting Society worked every night like madwomen, making fifteen quilts in record time.  Each of the seven women in it kept one, as well as giving one to each married woman it the nearby area.  Each quilt was given with a strong length of rope, ten feet long, several clothespins and a small note on a paper, written like a cake recipe, detailing what was to be done with the supplies.  Seven weeks after that fated meeting of the Quilting Society, the Ladies' Revolution of Salinas, CA was set into motion.

                Mr. Job O'Malley came home drunk on Saturday night, and stumbled into bed, dog tired.  He never noticed the quilt hanging from the ceiling, separating him and his wife.  He just snored and snuffled through a nights sleep, drooling out of one corner of his mouth.

                Mr. A.J. Greene sat down to a hearty breakfast Monday morning, or so he thought.  The bacon was badly charred; he skipped it.  The bread was barely toasted, and fell apart when he tried to pile his poached eggs on it.  The eggs, which he ended up eating with a spoon, tasted a little strange.  At first, he didn't notice it.  Then, as he poured sugar into his coffee, as he did each morning (the man had a sweet tooth, to be sure.)  His mouth began to burn.  He ate another spoonful of egg, thinking it would help, but of course it didn't.  Perdita Green had seasoned it with Tabasco sauce.  In a futile attempt to cool his flaming mouth, A. J. Greene downed his entire mug of coffee in one large gulp.  His tongue continued to burn as he discovered that the sugar had been replaced with salt.

                After a hard day of harassing the workers on his ranch, Curley Lenard


End file.
